Love Is A Fever
by RisaLovesCato
Summary: Finnick Odair is the Capitol's golden boy, a god among men, beautiful and clever. Yet although he has courted dozens in his ten years as victor, he has only ever loved three. A fellow tribute, a Capitol socialite, and a Girl on Fire. This is his story, from his first love to his last. From the beginning to the end. (Finnick & OC/Effie Trinket/Katniss Everdeen)
1. Fate

**PART 1: THE TRIBUTE**

**CHAPTER 1: Fate**

_All along it was a fever_  
_A cold sweat hot-headed believer_  
_I threw my hands in the air and said, "Show me something,"_  
_He said, "If you dare come a little closer."_

_Round and around and around and around we go_  
_Oh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know_

...

Finnick Odair could no longer distinguish between love and lust. It had been so long since he had loved, and nowadays even the lust no longer surfaced. He had never lusted after the few women he had loved, and he had never loved the many women he has lusted after.

As the mutations and their vicious teeth tear at his legs and slash deep gouges in a body that was once unblemished and beautiful, he thinks of this. He should feel pain, and he does, but he call only gaze upwards with a final desperate intensity into the wide, tear-filled eyes of Katniss Everdeen.

"Finnick!" She cries, and for a moment he has an urge to laugh, for now he knows that the flesh has been stripped away from his lower body and the mutations will soon destroy all that he once was, the sins and the regrets would be no more when it was over.

"Go, Katniss! Run!" he cries at her, and she is pulled away by someone, sobbing. He latches on to the fading image of her beauty as he goes under the writhing mass.

It had not always been this way, he thinks as the muzzles and teeth knife through his chest. He had once loved, and now as the last pinprick of light is consumed by the dark, furless bodies writhing above him...Finnick remembers.

Finnick remembers, and as the light dies in his eyes, he can almost feel it again.

* * *

...

* * *

It was the 65th Annual Hunger Games.

She was a slim girl, with large hazel eyes and hair the color of chocolate. She was very awkward when he first met her, almost painfully so.

The first time he spoke to her was on the second day of training, when she tripped and planted her face on the hard marble ground directly in front of the Careers, who immediately sneered and made a scene of it.

At first Finnick had laughed as well, it was very funny. But then, as the girl got up furiously and wiped her bloody nose with the back of her hand, he felt something in him cringe for her. Perhaps it was the enormous reaction he had received from the time he stepped onto the platform in District 4 to the Tribute Parade, or perhaps it was a day spent with the haughty Careers, but somehow as this girl gave all six of the towering Careers a furtive, challenging look, the moment for helping had passed.

The girl sat alone at lunch, her uniform bloody and her hair a mess from the morning's training. She reminded him a bit of Annie, his friend from back home, in the way she didn't seem to care much that no one was paying attention to her. Annie was a little bit crazy, and he hoped that this tribute girl wasn't. Otherwise he would seem rather ludicrous if he sat with her.

When he sat down with his plate, however, she suddenly did not seem so dreamy anymore, and gave him a rather sharp look.

"Feeling sorry for the likes of me, Finnick Odair? I suppose you've never faceplanted your pretty nose anywhere, let alone in front of the very people who will kill you," she scoffs, her voice soft but quick in her anger. She begins scooting her chair away. As she does, it tilts backwards, and she falls again.

Finnick doesn't laugh this time, although the hall rings with the jeers of the others. He helps her up, noticing as she stands shakily that she is actually quite pretty, with dark curling eyelashes and a heart-shaped face. He had not seen her properly earlier, with the blood from her nose smeared across her face. She's perhaps his age, a little older maybe. Now, as he grasps her hand, he sees the dried blood at the fingernails. When she sees him staring at her hands, she snatches them away.

"There's a faulty chair," he pretends not to notice and turns to accuse the attendant closest to them. Even at fourteen, he knew that the best way to redeem one's dignity was to blame the fault on others. The attendant apologizes profusely, clearly stifling a laugh.

"What's your name?" He asks her. She regards him presumptuously at the question, but then her eyes turn mellow again, being unable to fool herself that she could ever be better than the beautiful boy sitting with her like a dream. The other Careers are hooting and yelling offensive things at both of them, wolf-whistling rudely.

"Cara, and your name is Finnick as all of Panem knows, so you don't need to repeat it," she says quickly. Finnick knits his golden eyebrows. She was not very sociable and he did not know what to say to that. He ate his food with her so so wouldn't be alone, but on the pretense of getting more, he returned to the Career table, where the charming female tribute of District 1 quickly leaned her head on his shoulder, although she was nearly half a decade older. He did not return to the lonely table in the corner of the room.

Cara watches this with neutral eyes, although she internally wishes she had not made such a terrible fool out of herself. All chance of a friendship or even a semi-familiar face here in the Games had been dashed the moment she had gotten nervous and fallen off that chair. The same was with the previous fall early that morning. It was something about the bronze-haired boy that distracted her so easily.

And now she was officially an outcast, unwanted by every alliance, even the weakest. She had deemed herself both clumsy and stupid, when she was neither. Even her District 10 partner, who was a powerful boy aiming to make his way into the Career alliance, did not want to be seen with her. He had tended the heavy-built, stubborn oxen back home. She had tended the harmless baby chickens. Those facts alone spoke for themselves.

Finnick Odair stays with the Careers for the rest of the day, laughing in that effortless way of his and not sparing another glance at her. The blonde from District 1 continues to smother him, and he does not do anything stupid such as faceplanting, Cara thinks, as she watches him inconspicuously in between her feeble attempts to light a fire. Rather, he has a sort of smoky expression reserved for such occasions, in which he smirks slightly and stares at whomever he's trying to woo.

"Conceited, gorgeous, goddamn...fisherman," Cara smiles to herself as she speaks and brushes the soot out from her eyes. If anything, she would cling to the few moments that she had actually spoken to him, when he had not thought her stupid.

It is at that precise moment that a flame decides to spring from the pile of wood, sending a hazardous amount of smoke into her eyes and mouth.

Finnick watches the chocolate girl from his side of the room, where the lights are metallic and harsh over the target range. The more he looks at her, the more her hair looks like chocolate. The area where the chocolate gir- he corrected himself. Where_ Cara _had fallen is now scrubbed clean of blood, and quite amusingly, a large mat has been placed in the general vicinity, as if trying to protect the other tributes from the terribly menacing floor. How ironic, when only ten metres away is a rack of quite lethal weapons, among which include bows, knives, spears, and a general assortment of things. He sees a spoon and a fork.

He chuckles, a victor could win the Hunger Games with most anything. He certainly knows that it is not just with skill that he might win, he knows his physical advantage.

He grapples with the knives for a while, but quickly bores of the same targets and same sounds of contact. What's the point of practicing if he had hit the mark the first time? He mentions this to Carrow of District 1, who seems to have taken the role of leader, but the older boy doesn't seem to comprehend the sense of it and continues to throw the same weapons over and over.

"I suppose," Selene from the same district says, but from the way she flips her long hair again, he can tell that she doesn't really understand either.

"Do you?" he says sarcastically, and she nods happily, giving him a tap on the nose.

The Careers are actually rather idiotic, he decides with a smirk.

He looks for the chocolate girl again, but she is not there, and he tilts his head to one side. From one side he senses Selene watching him hungrily, from the other, the gazes of a dozen Gamemakers weigh upon him. They sit in their congregation high above the tributes, the pinkly lit space radiates the smell of roast meat and their heavy perfume.

The Gamemakers watch the District 4 boy, the one who is effortly good-looking, to the point of disbelief, really. If not for the records stating that he had been too impoverished to afford any beauty products, they would have gladly attributed his beauty to the Capitol's own shampoos and soaps. He was a fisherman's son, after all, and from the most horrific part of District 4, the part with the shacks. It must have smelled foul by the sea, the head Gamemaker first thought as he read the report.

The boy, Finnick, is only fourteen as well. If he were to win this Hunger Games, the possibilities of use for his body were limitless. And as the Gamemakers gaze down at him from their perch, champagne and bobbles of meat held in their manicured fingers, they unconsciously but simultaneously are thinking that this District 4 fisherman has a real chance of being a victor. He possesses the looks and the skills, luck be it that both will prove true. They cannot even imagine, nor consider the same for the clumsy girl who shamefully fell twice in one morning. They had not even noticed her before she so untastefully disgraced herself. It's the District 10 female. Her name was Cara Edenthaw, or Edenthorn, or perhaps her surname was Raththorn. None of them cared enough to check. The only reason they glanced at her occasionally was for comic relief-only a moment ago, the head Gamemaker had chuckled as she sent a plume of smoke into her own pretty little face.

For some reason or another-although it was most likely also for a laugh, Finnick Odair keeps on glancing at this awkward girl. Though she might have the body and the potential for great beauty, the low-class, mortifying manner with which she composed herself completely destroyed hopes of being a formidable tribute.

"Perhaps she'll even make it to the Cornucopia!" One of the Gamemakers exclaims, the ludicrous feathers upon his bright hat waving. Everyone laughs, even the tributes and training mentors below, for voices echo easily in this vast hall.

Cara does not pick up the weight she had tripped over, but runs out the door, tears gathering in her eyes. God, what is happening to her? Every step she has taken from the moment she had that nosebleed has resulted in disaster. If only her friends, who used to envy her before, saw how she's embarrassed herself today...

She continues to run, up the halls, her feet pittering across the veined marble. Oh, what was the point of even going to training anymore? If it wasn't required, she wouldn't go tomorrow. It was useless for her and almost everyone knew that Finnick Odair would win.

He had been brilliant during the Tribute Parade, and although she herself had been received with much applause, for her dress of tight leather had brought out her curves, it was nothing compared to the ecstatic crowds' cheering at the District 4 chariot.

Ha. Baby chickens. She had been taking care of chickens her entire life, and now she was part of the Hunger Games, already seen as slow-witted and clumsy.

She slams her hand on the elevator press, feeling immensely pleased when the doors open and she does not trip or get a leg stuck in the door or whatnot. What should be expected, such as a simple walks across twenty feet of smooth expanse suddenly seems to present itself as a challenge.

Finnick, on the other hand, walks across the training hall, stepping neatly over haphazardly placed weight, over to the fire-making station. He had never had a need for fire before, so he did not know how to start one. Every night in District 4 there would be a great bonfire on the beach, for the people to roast their food and keep warm by.

"Hello," he says to the attendant there, and she nods her head at the young, handsome boy.

He successfully strikes up a fire with flintstones in a matter of seconds, and is about to move on to the ropes course when he sees the small charcoal smudges on a piece of wood, clearly written and wiped hastily.

It's a small heart with the letters _FO _written inside, and although the heart is dustily smeared, the initials are alarmingly prominent.

"Who was here before me?" he asks softly, crossing his own initials out with more charcoal, no one needs to come across that.

"The girl with the chocolate colored hair, from District 10, I think," the older woman replies, sneering nastily at the memory of the girl.

"It does look like chocolate, doesn't it?"

He smiles despite himself, suddenly rather amused.

* * *

_A/N: If you've made it this far, I will presume that you are moderately capable of dealing with an OC for a couple of chapters. This will move fast, I have places to tell of, love to spin, fables to dream up. I will not dote on certain characters more than others._

_ Shorter or longer chapters? _

_Thank you for reading and I hope you continue to bear with me as I tell Finnick Odair's story._

_-PLUS if you wanted to know, the Capitol socialite is Effie Trinket and obviously the Girl on Fire is Katniss Everdeen._

___Suggestions and **reviews** are greatly appreciated. (more like if no one reviews i wont update cough)_


	2. Mockery

**A/N: Thank you to all of you who reviewed: kb5000, Caitie Manda, Fleur24, Anonymous, and Bob. I honestly wouldn't have continued the story without your support, and I appreciate it very much. **

* * *

**PART 1: **THE TRIBUTE

**CHAPTER 2: Mockery **

_Blue jeans, white shirt_

_Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn_

_It was like, James Dean, for sure_

_You're so fresh to death & sick as cancer_

_You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop_

_But you fit me better than my favourite sweater_

* * *

"You're late, Chickenfeet," Carrow sneers when Cara enters the Training Room. He begins to hop around, mimicking the frantic, crazed movements of some type of creature. The Careers laugh, and even Finnick Odair can't stop a corner of his mouth from twitching.

Cara watches with impassive, dark eyes, keeping her composure. Inside, she is burning, folding within herself into a tiny scrap of nothing. She is nothing here, useless to everyone. She hears it in their jeers, and despite her brave front, feels the injustice of the situation pounding against her chest. When she notices the Gamemakers pointing down at her and snickering in the balcony above, her stomach only wrenches further.

But she smiles tightly. It's already disappointing that she's half an hour late- seeing as her district partner, Sergei, did not have the audacity to wake her up on time- but to be ridiculed the moment she enters the room is too much. And _Chickenfeet _of all names...Sergei must have told the Careers about her previous job in District 10 tending the chickens.

And chickens didn't even move like that.

"If only you know how unintelligent you come off as," she snaps at Carrow before she realizes what she's done.

Then, as the words sink in and Carrow's mouth opens furiously, Cara's eyes widen and she quickly walks to the rope course, where there are training instructors to protect her if the Careers come after her. There is a small line, and luck be it, her District partner is ahead of her in line.

"Hello Sergei," she says curtly, smiling in the same tight way. The boy turns and sighs.

"Go away, Chickenfeet," he declares loudly.

He watches with satisfaction as Cara blinks and her eyebrows draw towards each other. She lowers her head as another wave of humiliation washes over her. Sergei grins and turns back around as the Careers give him approving looks from the other side of the room. He feels bad about embarrassing Cara, but it serves her right. They used to date, and watching her grow from a gangly-limbed girl to a beautiful young woman was a bitter experience. He was angry at her as well, for putting him in association with her. Who knew that she was so clumsy? Now he would have to try even harder to secure a spot in the Career alliance.

Another tight smile, this time at the back of Sergei's head, as she mutters, "I don't know why I ever liked you." Cara crosses her thin arms across her chest and stares down at her feet. Who knew they could cause so much trouble for her. These limbs that used to be so trustworthy are despised now.

So she was late. What about it? Would every entrance she made turn into an opportunity for the Careers to ridicule her even further? It was bad enough that she'd destroyed any chance of alliance... and therefore, survival. Now everyone will see her as the clumsy girl. The girl with nothing to lose.

Cara looks up suddenly at the nets hanging above head. That's it. That would be her strategy.

...

Finnick watches the girl from District 10 carefully as she looks at her feet. He hides his interest on the pretense of studying the rope course on the ceiling above, but every few seconds his gaze drifts back to Cara. He doesn't know what he's looking for, if there's anything to look for at all, but he can't stop studying her. She's so strange and so...interesting. Yesterday she was a bumbling fool, red-faced and stuttering, but today she is different. Composed, sharp-witted. Beautiful.

Perhaps her appearance is why he's so drawn to her, he muses, playing with a knife. No, that's not right. Selene from District 1 is a classic beauty, and he feels little to no attraction to her. It's deeper than the skin this time, he assures himself. Hopefully it is.

A bell is rung.

"Tributes, gather round!"

The head training instructor waits as the tributes come together in the center of the room. Finnick notices Cara walk through the side doors that lead to the dining room. He sighs. God knows where she'll go. Perhaps for a walk, although he doesn't remember the dining room leading out to the hallways. The only set of doors that will do that are in the Training Room itself.

Finnick tenses as a hand squeezes his shoulder. Selene grins at him, her cheek pressing against his neck as she massages his neck. Carrow joins them moments later, clearly unhappy with the interaction. Finnick turns away, ignoring Selene, but the other female tributes have noticed, and they stare at the two, jealous.

"For your first mandatory group activity, you will be wrestling with a partner. Close combat is crucial in the arena, and can draw the line between life or death. I advise you to challenge yourselves with your choice of opponent, in the arena there is no _fair _match of skill. Line up behind either mat and await further instruction."

"Finnick..." Selene purrs. But Carrow pulls her away and demands that she be his partner. Finnick quickly slips away and has to reject several more requests before he can push through the gilded doors that Cara had left from.

The dining room is empty, seeing as it is only ten o'clock and lunch is yet to be served. No one is at any of the tables, but the sound of plates clinking sounds faintly and grows louder. An Avox enters the room with a cart, and stares with wide eyes at the bronze haired boy standing at the opposite entrance.

"Have you seen a girl pass through here?" he asks the Avox. She has a simple purple garment, and lifts a pale hand to point at the entrance from whence she came, a small, inconspicuous wooden door made especially for servants.

"Oh, you can talk!" a voice exclaims from the dimly lit recesses, and Cara emerges with her own cart in tow, smiling at the Avox. The Avox violently shakes her head no. Cara genuinely smiles for a moment longer but sees a certain boy at the door, and her eyes suddenly lose their interest and darken with uncertainty.

Finnick cocks his head, slightly annoyed. "What are you doing? You're a tribute, not a servant. Give that cart to the Avox and come back to training."

She raises her chin stubbornly, wheeling the cart forwards. "I'd rather serve you than be mocked by you. At least I have a friend _here_," she replies bitterly.

"That Avox isn't your _friend_. She's just letting you play along because she's afraid," Finnick counters quickly, and as the Avox meekly raises her eyes, he knows that he is right.

Cara's eyes flick to the ground, and her cheeks color red when she realizes that Finnick might be right. At first she had thought that she would just help until she calmed down, but perhaps she wasn't being helpful, but was actually a burden. It wasn't as if the Avox could tell her.

"Cara, you're my assigned partner for wrestling. Please, come with me," Finnick says. He feels strange lying to her, but it's not entirely untrue. He has chosen her as his partner, and if she accepts, then the lie will become a truth.

For the first time in his fourteen years, he does not feel like the world is at his command. Cara gives him a look.

"Whoever paired us up clearly doesn't know a damn thing, then."

She gives him a bitter, self-deprecating smile and sweeps past him into the Training Room, unaware that she is the first female to ever refuse Finnick Odair's company.

...

"I hate this," Cara mutters furiously as she examines the bruises running along her arms. They are lightly purple and she can identify the places where rough fingers had twisted the skin. Carrow had decided to stand in for Finnick with wrestling. She hadn't stood a chance. If the training attendant hadn't intervened, the monster would have broken her wrist.

The Training Center is empty. All the other tributes are having dinner, and to actually _use _the facilities provided instead of watching the Careers hog them, Cara had eaten as quickly as possible and dashed down.

The shooting range is dimly lit and inviting. For the first time, Cara doesn't feel like she is being weighed down by judgemental glances or the biased opinions of the other tributes and Gamemakers. Finally, she can practice.

"You have nothing to lose." she reminds herself, sweeping her hair up into a bun. She carefully picks up a knife and stares at it. The feeling of danger is imminent, but even though she is afraid, it's a welcome thrill.

She lifts her arm to throw it at one of the many targets, but decides against it. Without the training attendants here, if she hurt herself no one would help her. So instead, she stabs it into one of the gel dummies. An uncharacteristic shiver of glee passes through her body at the squelching sound.

There is an abrupt crashing sound as the heavy doors slam open. Carrow strides in the room, immediately noticing the tall figure standing besides the mannikins. He grins, as he swaggers towards Cara Edenthaw, he brings the bottle of champagne in his hand to his lips and drinks.

"I told Selene to meet me here. But you'll do," he sneers at her. Her mouth is open in disbelief, and Carrow drunkenly notes the color of her eyes as Cara stares at the golden bottle of alcohol at his side.

"No, I'll go!" she exclaims frantically, suddenly terrified of the monstrous boy before her. The bruises on her arms seem to burn with renewed pain. She tries to step past him, but Carrow takes hold of her wrist tightly. He dully marvels at how delicate she is. He could snap all the bones in her arm with blow.

Then, as she opens her mouth to scream, he forces her to look at him by twisting her wrist. Cara cries out in pain and Carrow grins as the champagne bottle shatters on the floor.

"Let me go, please, please," she pleads, tears filling her eyes. _Oh my god he's going to sexually assault me, _is all she can think of through the pain from her wrist. "Let me go!"

"I don't want to!" he roars back, and his face is distorted into a crazed, uncontrollable expression of rage. Selene doesn't want him, she's always so preoccupied with that pretty boy Finnick Odair. He needs something, some_one_, to kiss, to touch.

"You're so pretty," he says stupidly all of a sudden as he stares at Cara's tear streaked face intently with his soulless, dull eyes. "I never realized..."

He ignores her renewed struggling and twists her wrist further as he forces her lips to smash against his own brutish ones.

...

Finnick broods in silence as he walks down the marble hallway towards the Training Center. The glass windows remind him that he's in another world. The bright, synchronized lights of a million galas and nightly gatherings blink in the city below. It's a breathtaking scene, but he would give the world to exchange _this _view with the rough, endless darkness of the ocean as bioluminescent sealife lit it up from deep below.

He smooths his ever-messy copper hair with one hand as he opens the doors with his other. He can't stop thinking about what happened this afternoon. When he had finished helping the Avox put the cart in the right place-very hypocritical of him, he knows- he had returned to training in time to see Carrow gripping Cara's arm hard enough to leave bruises. He had probably taken advantage of her absence and convinced the training attendants that she chose him as partner. Cara had retreated into a corner of the room afterwards, nursing her sore limbs.

Finnick's mind wanders back to the present as a scream shatters the calm.

"_Let me go!" _

At first Finnick doesn't make sense of the situation, but his eyes swoop down to the blood coming from Cara's wrist as Carrow crushes it, and he understands. His eyes harden and he steps forward to stop the shameless idiot, but he's too late and he watches as Carrow forces himself upon her.

"Carrow!" Finnick snarls. His chest tightens as he sees that Cara is crying. "Get your damn-filthy hands off of her." As Carrow slowly grasps the situation, Finnick rushes forwards.

In the brief moment that Carrow is distracted with Finnick Odair's entrance, Cara takes advantage of the looseness of the hand upon her wrist. She jerks out of the monster's grip and with complete, angry conviction, knees him as hard as she can in the groin.

As her offender collapses inwards, grasping at his stomach, she slams her shoulder into Finnick's as she runs out of the room, sobbing.

Finnick follows her progress with worry burning in his eyes, but then turns coldly to the muscular boy rolling around on the floor. He steps closer, and brings back his foot to kick the body, but stops himself at the last moment.

"I won't ever stoop to your level, Carrow. But if you touch her again, _I'll kill you_," Finnick lets the words roll off his tongue like honey, although he is only trying to calm himself down. The venom is evident beneath the smoothness of the threats.

He casts another look of disgust at Carrow, whose hands are still stained with Cara's blood, before storming out of the room, full of indescribable fury.

* * *

The next day in training, Cara doesn't show up at all. Carrow is just as stupid as before, not entirely sure of what had happened the night before. Selene is herself, collected and mature, but Finnick ignores her and isolates himself at the stations.

"I don't want to associate with you. Any of you," he had replied flatly when Selene had asked.

The Gamemakers are all-seeing and take note of this. There is a new type of hostility between Finnick Odair and the District 1 male tribute. They are fascinated, curious as to what had happened. Could this possibly result in the breaking of the classic Career alliance?

In fact, Velorum Helistin had received a report of violence between tributes in the Training Room the previous night. Did the two boys have a brawl of sorts? Either way, he would have the head training instructor review the rules again during the next mandatory activity.

"Is the arena ready? Every detail?" He asks his fellow Gamemakers. They eagerly nod. After hours of hard work, the arena is perfect. This year the show will be unmatched. The Capitol would have the finest, most entertaining display of the decade. In the matter of a few days, the name of each and every one of the tributes would be known across Panem.


	3. We Swallow the Dark

A/N: Thank you to all of you who reviewed: _Anonymous, Abigail25, & unpoisson. _It's funny- all I used to care about was how much feedback I recieved. I would grovel and badger for reviews, addicted to the thrill they gave me. With this story though, I'm not worried about reviews or feedback. I simply love writing it.

* * *

**PART 1: **THE TRIBUTE

**CHAPTER 3: We Swallow the Dark**

_I take a deep breath everytime I pass your door_  
_I know you're there but I can't see you anymore_  
_And that's the reason you're in the dark_  
_I've been a stranger ever since we fell apart_  
_And I feel so helpless here_  
_Watch my eyes are filled with fear_  
_Tell me do you feel the same_  
_Hold me in your arms again_

* * *

The anticipation proceeding the 65th Hunger Games is so great that the training scores are announced the night of the private evaluations.

The Capitol awaits eagerly in their luxury homes. The Districts mass beneath the stars, forlornly looking up to the massive screens installed by the Capitol. The Tributes and their mentors pace in time to the ticks of the clock, afraid and excited all at once.

Ever since her encounter with Carrow, Cara had felt dirty; tainted with the lingering feel of his rough hands. She was humiliated and afraid, and didn't want to ever see any of the Careers again. Carrow had shattered a bone in her wrist, but luckily the Capitol's advanced technology restored it in a matter of hours. No one knew what happened that night except for Carrow and Finnick. Not even her mentors were aware of what had happened... they are too preoccupied with their yearly leisure trip to care.

For the two days before the private sessions with the Gamemakers, Sergei went to training and Cara wandered the halls and watched films of previous Games. She strategized and tried to learn from the previous tributes' mistakes. No fires at night. Always cleanse water with iodine tablets. Treat infection immediately. _Make an alliance. _That's the most important thing. To have an alliance is to have an advantage.

At night she would sneak out and train in the drafty, silent Training Room alone. She didn't dare go there any time earlier than midnight in case Carrow or Selene were practicing. The lights were never on, so Cara made do with moonlight from the skylights to light her way. In fact, one night she had nearly fallen into the rack of weapons.

"Don't be surprised when you score a zero," Sergei warns her harshly as Caesar Flickerman's signature grin appears onscreen to announce the scores. Cara bites down on her lip and ignores him. He doesn't know how hard she's been trying the past few days. She has several bruises on her shins and a cut across the back of her hand to prove it.

Carrow and Selene both score a other three Careers score high as well, but Finnick is the only one out of them that gets a 10. The other tributes are mediocre. The Careers are the only true threat in this game.

Sergei and Cara both receive an 8. For a brief moment, the two tributes share a smile of relief, which quickly morphs into a scowl on Sergei's part. But a grin tugs on his lips, and he breaks into smile again, unable to hide his happiness.

"Congrats," Cara says to him. "That's a good score. Maybe you should join the Careers...it's important to have allies."

"You got the same score, god knows how, considering that you can't throw a knife without embarrassing yourself. Why don't _you_ try for allies?"

It shouldn't bother her, but it does. Cara feels herself stiff up as her district partner sneers at her.

"Because no one wants me, that's why," she says quickly. She walks away before she can say anything else, or god forbid, start crying.

...

The days pass quickly as all twenty-four tributes are instructed on how to be perfect guests during Caesar Flickerman's yearly round of interviews.

Carrow is taught how to sound intelligent onstage. Selene frisks in low cut dresses, flaunting her body. Sergei tries to memorize exactly what he should say to get the Career's approval. Cara wears heels for the first time. Finnick doesn't prepare. He goes sightseeing with one of his many wealthy sponsors.

Despite his lack of preparation, he is the calmest tribute in line on the night of interviews.

"Finnick, I just found out that you're only fourteen," Selene says to him as they watch the stage being set up. "I thought you were older."

His sharp gaze flicks to her for a moment before returning to the television screen mounted on the velvet-lined walls. The show will begin in ten minutes. Even though he doesn't mean to notice, the absence of the District 10 tributes has caught hold of his attention. He thinks of the blood on Cara's wrist that night. It's been a week since any of them had seen her.

"So I've been told," he replies, distracted.

When Selene's interview begins, Cara still hasn't arrived. Finnick sighs and straightens his suit before purposely forcing himself to focus on the screen.

"What are your strengths, Selene? The sponsors out there want to know, don't they?" Caesar waits for the roar of applause as he asks Selene her final question.

The room is packed with the wealthiest citizens of the Capitol, their interests piqued by the investments they could make tonight. They try to convince themselves that sponsoring a tribute is a philanthropy, but they are actually playing the game for selfish reasons. Money, fame, social uplifting. For most its the most exciting event of the year. The thrill of cheering for the ones they like and helping their tribute gather the odds is attractive to them. In a way, the Hunger Games is an addiction for the people of the Capitol. They can't live without it-they never have had to.

"I'm good with weapons and I'm beautiful," Selene shrugs. She's just as relaxed and laid back as always.

"I believe you!" Caesar laughs. Her interview draws to an end and Carrow shoves past Finnick hard as he passes out of the hall for his interview. Ever since Finnick had threatened him several nights ago, Carrow had maintained a steady grudge against him. The fact that Finnick was fourteen and he himself was eighteen was of no relevance. They were at the same level in this game. In fact, the younger boy had the advantage of his physical appearance, while Carrow's physical appearance was a distinct _dis_advantage.

The monstrous boy strides onstage and takes a seat, grinning in a ruthless way. The audience chuckles in unison. With his hair slicked back, Carrow more closely resembles an animal than a boy.

...

Cara pushes through the silver-plated doors with Sergei as Carrow begins to speak. She is out of breath and tries to inconspicuously take her place in line. Sergei meanders off to the front of the line, to talk to the Careers about joining them.

She gives him an encouraging smile when he looks back at her. Although she won't be making any allies, she wants to help Sergei to have a fair chance.

Finnick Odair speaks to Sergei since Selene and Carrow have left, and when he catches her smiling in his direction, he sends Cara a strange look.

"He let me in," Sergei says when he comes back to stand with her. "He asked me if you wanted to join as well, but I told him you didn't."

"What?"

She stares at him, not sure whether she should slap him for being so selfish, or congratulate him for making it into the Career alliance. In the end Cara swallows her annoyance and leans forwards to give Sergei a hug.

"I hate the Careers anyways, you're right. Good job," she says dryly, as she pats him hard on the back. For good measure she gives him two more hard, heavy, vicious pats before pulling away. Sergei rubs his stinging back as he shrugs.

Finnick is looking at her again in that strange way, his eyebrows drawn together and his hair a mess of bronze. Cara turns away. It's not Finnick's fault that Sergei is a stupid lump of selfish ignorance, but she is still angry at him nevertheless. On one hand, to be part of an alliance, especially the Career alliance, would help her! On the other, she hates Carrow with a fiery passion.

_Speaking of the devil..._

"Are there any tributes this year worth noticing, Carrow? Being leader of the Career pack, you must have at least one or two interests!" Caesar Flickerman says onstage. This is his closing question for Carrow.

"I, uh...yeah. There's this one girl that's been up my, erm, butt," Carrow replies, squinting in the bright spotlight as he struggles to find words.

"Hah," Finnick suppresses a laugh, but all the tributes hear him chuckling at the front of the line.

"Who?" Caesar asks.

"The District 10 girl. We call her Chickenfeet, because she's so clumsy and stupid," Carrow says with a malicious grin.

Cara's.

heart.

stops.

The buzzer goes off, but it's too late. The damage is done, and as Carrow leaves the stage, the audience twitters in disapproval at his bashing of another tribute.

_Don't cry. Don't cry. _

Cara feels the heat rising up inside of her until the pressure of oncoming tears builds behind her eyes. How could he? How could that monster do that to her?

Her face flushes red, and her legs begin to shake. The District 3 interviews pass, but Cara doesn't notice. She is still looking down at feet, blinking slowly and deliberately so her makeup won't be smudged by the tears.

_It's okay...you're okay. _

The more she tries to convince herself, the harder it is to control her emotions, and she is about to ask the Capitol servant standing at the door if she can go to the powder room to clean herself up, but a familiar voice stops her.

"Hello Caesar," the television purrs, and Cara looks up with wet, dark eyes at Finnick Odair onscreen. Unlike the others, he does not look at Caesar as he sits, but rakes his gaze over the colorful mass of the audience.

"Hello Finnick. You look dashing tonight! In fact, many people are _still _talking about your appearance at the Tribute Parade," Caesar says, giving Finnick's leg a pat.

"Good things, I hope," Finnick replies lightly,

"Naturally! But tell me, isn't it hard to be so attractive? You must have had many admirers back home as well. I mean- you were a fisherman... didn't the girls scare away all the fish when they came running after you?"

The audience seems to come alive, roaring with good humor and making catcalls.

Finnick's low, light laughter rings above all else.

"Yes Caesar...its excruciatingly to be so incredibly _beautiful_," he says sarcastically. "In fact, the moment I step into the sea, narwhals sing and dolphins leap for joy."

The Capitol falls in love at that moment. This is their Golden Boy. This is who they have been waiting for.

_Great, he's funny too. _Cara takes a deep breath. Her eyes have dried and as Finnick's interview progresses, she smooths down her dress.

As the last minute approaches an end, Caesar asks his final questions.

"You are one of the youngest tributes, yet you scored a 10, the highest score this year. Care to share your secret?" The host asks.

"It'll have to be a surprise. You'll see."

Caesar chuckles, expecting this answer.

"And since you are in an alliance with Carrow, do you believe what he said about the District 10 girl? I'm sure that all of us are wondering what brought upon such harsh words."

Cara brings a hand to her mouth, shaking her head as new anxiety grips her. Why can't Caesar just let it go? By bringing her humiliation up again, he is only opening a fresh wound in her already scarred pride. And in all interviews, of course he chooses to mention it in Finnick's.

She leaves the room without asking permission. The attendant calls after her, but she doesn't look back. Let Finnick say what he wants. Let them all mock her! She deosn't care. She deosn't care what her future killers think of her.

But she does actually care...and her lip begins to quiver as she tries to stay strong.

...

Onstage, Finnick stares at Caesar Flickerman in disbelief. His fingers grip the arms of his seat tightly.

"Are you serious?" Finnick asks.

Caesar gives him a little nod and reaches out to take hold of Finnick's shoulder. The crowd is hushed.

"How dare you. I thought you were here to help the tributes, not to humiliate them."

Finnick stands up without warning, the seat clattering against the stage. He then leaves without a word as the buzzer rings.

...

When it is District 10's turn, Cara walks onstage and sits down on the white leather seat, a look of stubborn pride smitten over her features. The Capitolists have forgotten how beautiful she is, and they begin to whisper to each other. How could this dainty long-legged girl be 'clumsy' and 'stupid'?

"Hello Cara, how are you?" Caesar jumps right in, grinning from ear to ear, seemingly putting the fact that he humiliated her in front of Panem behind him.

"Good," she replies sarcastically. "In fact, I just spent the past half hour having a nervous breakdown. Thank you, Caesar, for that."

The rest of the interview is less hostile. Caesar's radiant personality contrasts Cara's more reserved one. He asks her questions, and she talks about her family back home, her younger brothers and the family cow.

" My favorite thing top do? Eating. Yes, eating.." she says when asked.

Caesar seems to try especially hard to help her shine, as if to make up for earlier. He leads the crowd's laughter when Cara exhibits her self-deprecating, sometimes inappropriate sense of humour, and compliments her on her dress even though it's a simple red chiffon.

In the end, the audience no longer has a misconception about the District 10 girl. Some of the Capitolists find her to be offensive and too curt for their taste, but likewise, some are impressed. Her striking features and personality battle for a chance, and several sponsors in the room are determined to provide it.

"Do you think that you could win the 65th Hunger Games, Cara?"

Cara gives Caesar a look, thinking that he's joking. But no, this is her final question, her last chance to prove herself. It's the worse question she could get. Of course she can't win! But if she is truthful about how she regards her chances of winning, no sponsors would support her.

She thinks carefully. The cameraman focuses on her face, and the indecision that flashes through her eyes betrays her onscreen.

"You can understand my hesitation, can you not, Caesar? The tributes this year are incredibly skilled. In my best moments, I convince myself that I have a chance of winning. But unfortunately, my stay here hasn't presented an opportunity for any of those 'moments' yet."

The buzzer rings, and a round of hushed applause shakes the room. The Capitolists are unsure what to make of Cara Edenthaw's last statement.

But whatever the case may be, when the show is over and the sponsors, mentors, and stylists take their leave, they hold certain tributes close to their hearts. Each of the bedecked, fancily clad men and women choose who they want to bet on. Carrow and Selene are the safe bet, although now that the interviews are over, the public opinion of Carrow has taken a downside. Many place their trust and funds in the Careers from Districts 1 and 2. Even more immediately lunge to have a share in Finnick Odair's pool of support.

The ones who are not concerned with money- the fabulously wealthy ones who have nothing to lose...those sponsors are the ones who migrate away from the usual Careers. These are patrons looking for solely entertainment, the ones who want to play a game and help their pieces make it to the other side. These are the sponsors that choose to support Cara, and while they are few compared to the masses fawning over the Careers, they are strong in both funds and choice of tribute.

The celebration that night is unmatched by any other. The Capitol has found their Golden Boy, and they have found their underdog, their dark horse. Everything, _everything, _seems to imply that the show this year will be spectacular.

* * *

"Stay with the Careers until tensions begin to run high. Kill as many tributes as you can-moral guilt will come later. I won't send a parachute unless you need it, so learn how to make do," Mags speaks quickly and quietly as she helps Finnick step into his launching tube, her hands shaking.

The glass shuts him in with a soft thump. Then it begins to rise. Finnick takes a last glance at his mentor as she disappears out of sight. Abovehead, an automated female voice counts down the moments to the beginning of the 65th annual Hunger Games.

_45. 44. 43...40. _

The tube rises for a long while, and as he is lifted from the pitch dark, Finnick lets himself twist at the bracelet upon his wrist, his token, a reminder of District 4. But when the circle of light above illuminates the entire tube as it nears, he drops his hands to his side and smooths back his mussed hair.

Then the brightness hits him, momentarily blinding him. The glass partition sinks back into the ground as Finnick rubs the darkness from his eyes.

_25. 24. 23...20. _

The arena is unlike any he has ever seen. The Cornucopia and circle of tributes are situated atop a formidable mountain in the center. Finnick cocks his head, sizing up the landscape far below. On one side is a dark mass of coniferous forest, shrouded by the clouds that drift over the mountain in cold sheets. On the other, is an expansive ocean, with a large island of the dark trees isolated in the middle.

_15. 14. 13. _

On the other side of the ring of tributes, Cara tries to make out a plan of what she should do. It's cold. There are torrents of wind that threaten to knock her over, and as far as she can see, the surrounding landscape is fifty feet beneath where she stands. From her standpoint, the mountain is a fatal drop of sheer cliffs. There is no visible way to escape. But there must be!

"Caves," Cara mutters to herself. The countdown from 10 begins. "Tunnels, ledges, waterfalls."

_8. 7. 6. 5. _

There must be a way to get off of this cold, dreary mountaintop and away from the Bloodbath. She _must _find the way, or she'll be dead. Her heartbeat catches in her chest.

_3. 2. 1. _

"_Let the 65th annual Hunger Games begin!"_

The adrenaline is incredible. It charges the air as each tribute pushes themselves to their limits to make it to the Cornucopia before the Careers do. Several of the weaker children trip on the jagged rocks and fall, but Cara is able to reach the Cornucopia first, by some miracle. Carrow is beating the District 12 girl to death, and Cara grabs as many things as she can while he is occupied, not caring what she takes.

She can't make sense of anything around her, and as Selene and Finnick reach the Cornucopia and quickly begin to line their belts with weapons, Cara shoulders her packs and sprints away. Screams pierce the air behind her and she is too scared to look back. Dull thumps of knives finding bodies seem to sound in time to her pounding pulse.

Cara has never been more afraid in her life, and as she whips her head around, everything a moving, constant blur to her terrified mind; somehow a small ledge to the side of the mountain catches her eye. She grips her two backpacks by the shoulder straps and rushes forwards, suppressing the utter panic that is stuck in her throat. The ground below suddenly seems so, so far away, and the steeply falling ledge seems like a plummet to death.

"God help me," she looks back again desperately, and sees Finnick strike down a tribute with a spear, only twenty feet from where she is standing at the edge of the drop. He doesn't look the least bit afraid, and when he turns and catches sight of her, he runs towards her with his bloodied spear in hand.

"Wait! Cara!"

_He's going to kill me, _she thinks. But for some reason, she allows him to draw closer although every instinct tells her to run. He helped her with Carrow and sat with her that first day of training. She could at least give him the benefit of the doubt. However, every fiber of her body is still tightly wound, ready to flee at any moment.

"Come with me," he tells her, and to stop her from running, he roughly grabs her arm with his blood-slicked hands. Selene appears from one side, a knife flashing across the empty space in front of the two.

"This one is mine!" Finnick yells at her, and Selene retreats. Cara yanks her arm out of Finnick's hands, but he just takes hold again and drags her into the mouth of the Cornucopia. It's dark and cold inside, and the shape of the structure creates a powerful wind tunnel.

Finnick knows that this choice is irreversible. Cara is panicking, and he knows that she's thinking of Carrow, who had held her arms tightly as well.

"I won't hurt you," he says, his voice rising above the uproar outside. "Let me be your ally." He pushes her farther into the horn, knowing that their route of escape is hidden in the recesses of the dark.

"I'd rather you kill me!"

Finnick sighs and Cara shrinks back as her feet are suddenly freezing cold, splashing into water that gets deeper and deeper as Finnick urges her farther into the Cornucopia.

"Come on-it's okay, I'm here with you. That's a water chasm, I think it leads out of the mountain."

"No! No no no," she says over and over again. Finnick's hands slips from her wrist and his fingers intertwine tightly with hers.

"Trust me, Cara. _I can help you_." He's losing his patience. He knows that this is the way off of this cliff. The ledges are too dangerous and risk death, and earlier when he came back here to check for stashed supplies, he noticed the water. It's deep, deeper than he could have waded in. There's a whirling sound, the crashing of water that he had first mistaken for noise from the Bloodbath.

"Look," he quickly says, and he throws his knife into the dark pool of cold, cold water. It sinks and there is a faint clink after several long moments. "See, it leads to solid ground."

"You're insane, Finnick-let me go if you want to help me! Let me go!" She's sobbing, and although he knows that he is right about this, he starts to doubt himself.

"Are we allies?" he asks her desperately, one last try.

"No!"

"We are," he says in response, and before he changes his mind about leaving the Careers, he squeezes her hand tightly, pulling her body to his.

Then he jumps into the water. There is no ground beneath their feet, and he feels a pulling sensation at his feet that gets stronger. The current begins to rush, whirling and bringing them down. The small hand held in his threatens to be pulled away, so as his head disappears under the icy black water, Finnick wraps his arm around the slim body. The darkness swallows them.

The Capitol watches, clutching their sequined chests with anxiety as they witness the drama onscreen. The Districts react in a similar way, the weather-lined faces and gaunt, sunken eyes of children and parents alike. The Gamemakers exchange glances, their eyes aglow with the thrill of seeing their arena at work.

All of Panem holds their breath. The world is watching.


	4. Falling Like Swallows From the Sky

**A/N: Thank you to all of you who reviewed: _Anonymous, Abigail25, & unpoisson. _**

**_I have decided that _**_THE TRIBUTE**,** THE CAPITOLIST_**_, & _**_THE GIRL ON FIRE **will all be from 7 to 9 chapters each**_

_**Please enjoy and review. **_

* * *

**PART 1: **THE TRIBUTE

**CHAPTER 4: Falling Like Swallows From the Sky**

_I was here before the sands of time_

_waiting for the one to steal my guarded breath, _

_to cut my heart into scarlet rivulets of passion_

_and piece it together again with their bloodstained tears. _

_The day the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, _

_when we set our bare feet upon the pavement of the sky and fall upwards _

_into fire and water_

* * *

A minute passes, and Panem waits with baited breath. When the two of them slam against the stone floor, Finnick's arm protectively around Cara, a sigh of relief flows from all the citizens and capitalists that are rooting for them.

Finnick crawls out of the path of the falling water, coughing. The water is bitter tasting and burning in his throat like vomit, and even with a lifetime of the sea under his belt, he finds it hard to breathe.

He falls forwards, and with some difficulty, untangles himself from Cara's shaking limbs. He puts her on her side and shakes her shoulder until she also begins to cough, great heaving attempts to breathe.

Both of them lay there, exhausted and soaked through with the foul water, as they try to clear their lungs.

"Are you alright?" Finnick finally asks. His voice is raw. Cara sits up, holding her pounding head with both hands, and looks at him.

"No, I'm not," she rasps. "I am not alright. I feel terrible. Stop staring at me."

"Sorry," he mutters, and he looks away.

It is several more minutes until they are fit enough to stand, and they find their backpacks, which are wet and soggy. Everything is soaked and Finnick tells Cara not to bother opening any of the packs, they need to move fast. She doesn't reply, maintaining an angry silence. This isn't how it should have gone...Finnick should be with the Careers and she should be alone. By being her ally, he was putting himself in danger. She was damaging his chances of being the Victor.

Also, he was making her feel uncomfortable. No, she wasn't tripping or stumbling, but whenever he looked at her, she felt strange, like she had to try harder to exist. Everything became a show, and without meaning to, she looked towards him for his approval.

Once everything was in order and the two of them have somewhat recovered, they begin their descent, stepping out from under the rocky outcrop and onto the downward sloping, vigorous path of stone that winds down the mountain. The water whirlpool had dropped them off at about two thirds down the mountain, and Cara estimates that it would take at least half a day of vigorous hiking to reach the ground.

Finnick clearly takes note of her stony silence and sighs. "We're stuck together until we reach the ground, Cara. At least pretend that we're allies until then."

She takes the lead, still not saying a word, and he follows her, carrying two backpacks. He cradles one arm to his body- it was grazed in the fall, and holds a large knife with his uninjured hand.

Cara wants to answer, but being funny takes effort-she's not going to waste energy on sarcasm or irony...both she and Finnick were tired enough as it is. A canon sounds far away, and she shivers, from the cold and from the thought that the Careers are still out and hunting. For her, for Finnick.

...

Finnick walks several paces behind Cara as they carefully climb downwards. She clearly wants nothing to do with him, and he begins to question his original motives. He had sacrificed himself to help her because in the spur of the moment, helping her was all that had mattered.

Its chilly, and there is a biting wind. Finnick tenses, trying to conserve body heat. His uniform is still wet even though an hour has passed, and he feels a shiver rising up in his chest. Cara isn't faring much better, she keeps sneezing.

_Choo. _Another sneeze.

"Cara, you're catching a cold. Let's find somewhere and make camp. We need to stop for the night anyways, it looks like the Gamemakers are planning to rain us out with a storm."

The sky is even darker than before, and the wind has picked up. The clouds are thick and heavy, and the incoming storm gives the illusion of nightfall. From the look of it, it'll be a matter of minutes before the rain will begin.

"We're still _not _allies, Finnick. I'm not going to spend the night with you."

He cocks his head and stares at her, with her tangled hair and tired eyes. She's exhausted, and wouldn't survive the storm if she didn't find shelter...it seemed like a single gust of wind could blow her away.

"Yes, you are," he decides for her.

"This is how we ended up together in the first place, with you insisting that we're allies," Cara says, her voice flat. But she follows Finnick as he forges ahead, hugging herself for warmth. Of course out of all the climates that the Gamemakers could have chosen for the arena, they made it dreary, rainy, and freezing cold. District 4 and District 10 were the furthest south in Panem...she had never been so cold in her life.

* * *

After several minutes of searching, they find a small cave on the side of the mountain and stumble inside in the darkness. It's begun to rain, and Cara stands in the entryway as Finnick walks forwards, feeling his way through the inky dark to check for animals that may be hiding in the cave.

He bumps into her on the way back, and tries but fails to catch her when she falls. She indignantly gets up, wiping the mud from her pants. "I would be angry, but you clearly can't see a thing. Do we have any flashlights?"

Finnick crouches down besides her, as the cave is briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning outside. He blindly rummages around in his backpack for a flashlight, and comes up digs through her own backpack, and triumphantly holds an object up.

"I have one." She fumbles with it, but can't seem to turn it on. In District 10 only the rich town kids could afford luxuries like flashlights, and she had never touched one before now.

Finnick feels her passing it to him, and his fingers touch hers briefly, a static shock passing between them. She snaps her hand back. Finnick pretends not to notice, although he is slightly hurt that she is so reluctant to trust him.

He flicks the switch on the side, and a strong stream of yellow light beams out.

"You know, with my luck, I was half expecting that to go in my eyes," Cara muses quietly as he moves their things into the back of the cave.

Finnick can't help himself. "I left the Careers for you, how lucky can you get?"

She doesn't falter, always ready with a comeback.

"You're basking in my presence, how lucky can _you _get?" She sighs, "Do you have any matches?"

Both of them look for matches, but the one pack that they find is wet and useless. Another flash of lightning cracks through the sky, and thunder that seems to shake the ground with it's intensity. Cara frowns as thick ropes of rain fall outside, creating a loud, constant roar. She turns to him, hugging herself more. It doesn't help, and she sneezes as she makes a remark.

"Well, now we'll die of hypothermia. Congratulations."

Finnick wrinkles his brow. His friend Annie had actually contracted hypothermia last year and had almost died if he hadn't been with her when she had fallen into the sea that winter. He and Cara had been basking in their own wet clothes for hours now, and his chest was starting to ache with cold. The arena had been windy from the beginning, and now that it had started to rain, sickness was inevitable. If they didn't dry themselves, both of them would catch fevers.

"I have a towel in my backpack, if we take off our clothes we can dry them," Finnick says, absent-mindedly looking through the jagged entrance of the cave into the complete darkness. The sounds of rain pattering across the miles of the arena is comforting in a way. It reminded him of home, of the tropical storms that filled the ocean and blew over the huts by the sea.

...

_Take off our clothes. _

Cara coughs back a reluctant laugh, shivering from a sudden gust of wind coming in through the entrance of the cave. It's such a ridiculous idea that it would make a good laugh without the current circumstances in play. Two teenagers who were still hot-headed from puberty, and not to brag, but both quite attractive...God, who knew what would happen?

But then again, if she caught a cold or contracted a fever, she would be digging her own grave. As Atala the training instructor had said, _thirty percent of tributes died from disease, sickness, or infection._

"Fine, but you're next," she replies, turning her back to him. She pulls her shirt up over her head, the damp material sticking to her skin. Then with great difficulty, she hops out of the tight pants, kicking off her boots. There is a layer of thermal wear under the uniform, but even _that _is wet, and she peels it off feeling very self conscious and exposed.

Finnick watches her strip, his mind wandering. Without meaning to, he finds his eyes running over the soft curves of her hips, over the smooth skin of her back, down her long, flawless legs. She's beautiful... and he has a burning desire to-

"I'm freezing, Finnick!"

"Sorry, it's just...hormones." He laughs awkwardly, thoughts cut short, and hands her the towel. She wraps it around her shoulders and sits down, rocking from side to side to keep warm. It's not a large towel, and her legs are bare.

Finnick looks away, fighting the images that flash through his mind.

"Go on," Cara says, huddling. She is hugging a backpack, the extra bulk helping to keep the wind out. She feels scandalous, and has an urge to put all her wet clothes back on. Hopefully there are more interesting things happening in the arena and she and Finnick aren't being broadcasted live.

Then again, there is nothing more interesting than watching Finnick Odair undress.

He's surprisingly well-built for his age, tall, with muscles smooth and hard beneath his shirt and broad shoulders. He keeps his pants on, but she can see the V-shaped bones of his hips. He's lean and golden-skinned, and she can feel desire rising up in her throat. She pushes it down. She knew that this would happen. Finnick was staring at her, and she was staring at him.

A body spun from hours in the training room and at sea. Finnick probably was one of the Careers that trained in a special school, although since he's only fourteen, he can't have gotten much practice. Two years maybe?

"Nice abs," she remarks nonchalantly. Finnick smirks as if he's used to hearing it. He probably is.

"You're pretty hot yourself, Cara."

He sits down next to her, cocking his head to ask if it was okay. She nodded slightly and passed over half of the towel to him, hugging her backpack more tightly. He half-smiles and hands it back to her.

"You're enough for me," he murmurs in her ear. His breath is hot and his shoulder is touching hers, skin against skin. "I don't need anything else to survive."

Cara gives him a strange look. "Don't flirt with me."

He snickers, but suddenly stiffens, eyes hard and alert. The rain still drizzles on outside, but there's something wrong.

Someone is near.

Cara senses it too, and switches off the flashlight and grabs the knife that Finnick had given her earlier as a precaution.

He gets up in the dark to retrieve his weapons. Cara stands up as well, tightly clutching the knife. The towel falls from her shoulders.

Then she sees it. A weak, searching stream of light sweeping across their side of the mountain. Someone must have seen the light in the cave and was looking for them...it must be the Careers. No one else would brave the storm to hunt for tributes.

"Get dressed, we need to go!"

Finnick begins to stuff everything into the backpacks while tucking knives into his belt. Cara runs to her pile of clothes and hastily tries to turn them the right way out. But there's no time-

"_We're coming to get you..." _

Selene's voice eerily calls from outside, as the rain slows to a light mist. In a matter of seconds, the sky lightens to a foggy, dark grey. The Gamemakers want the audience to be able to see the show without the storm in the way.

Demonic laughter from Carrow and the other Careers echoes outside, and it scares her even more. Cara pulls on Finnick's shirt and jams her feet into her boots, shoving her own clothes into a backpack.

She has no pants on, but Finnick doesn't have a shirt on either, and at this point, being half-naked is the least of her worries.

He's already crouching at the entrance of the cave, shifting his weight as he prepares to run out. With the sky so light, they are no longer protected by darkness. If they leave the cave, it's likely that the Careers would attack.

"Cara," Finnick says, his voice full of tension. He grabs her hand.

Then he deftly leaps outside, and begins to sprint down the steep, rocky ledge. The fog is thick and it's as if they are falling, rushing, diving into the clouds themselves. The rush of adrenaline is overwhelming, and everything passes in a blur- dark stone, white mist, the sun-kissed skin of Finnick's back as he runs.

He skids to a stop, and Cara slams into him hard, almost pitching both of them off the edge of the ledge. He glances at her and then ahead again, where Selene and Carrow step out from the fog. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten around hers.

"Finnick," Selene says, and her blue eyes glint. "Well done, you've brought Chickenfeet to us as you promised."

Carrow smirks and takes a step forward towards Cara. Finnick shifts his weight so that his body covers hers, internally groaning as he realizes how convincing Selene sounds.

"Finnick." Cara says, pushing him away from her. Her voice is full of hurt. She believes them, she thinks that this was all just a ploy for him to kill her.

"Cara, its-" he pauses and thinks carefully as Selene watches smugly. Then he forces himself to play along, lifting his chin and straightening up. If he acted like it was true, maybe the chance to escape would present itself.

"You're an idiot, Cara. Did you really think that Finnick would want to be your _ally_? Hah, when he has the Careers? When he has _me?_" Selene hisses. She's enjoying this. On the other hand, Carrow's eyes are fixed on Cara's bare legs. Finnick wants to hurt him like he had threatened to so many nights ago. Training seems a lifetime away at this point.

Cara seems genuinely hurt, but she is too proud to admit defeat in front of Selene.

"What do you think we were doing before you interrupted us, Selene?"

Selene's eyes narrow as she examines the pair of them. Both half-naked, Chickenfeet wearing Finnick's shirt. Clearly they were sleeping together, or about to. She breathes out, disbelieving. She makes a rude sound and brings back her hand and slaps Cara across the cheek, the crack of her blow resounding through the mountains. Cara stands motionless, shocked, and Selene watches with satisfaction as pink marks blossom across her damn pretty little face. Finnick was hers, not Chickenfeet's.

Finnick stands there, his chest tight as he strains to think of a solution. He isn't sure if Selene really believes that he had led Cara to the Careers, or if this was just a scheme of hers. He makes his voice hard and stares straight into Cara's golden eyes.

"Don't even look at me with your filthy eyes, Finnick," she snaps.

"Why don't we let Carrow do that for me?" Finnick smiles, although seeing the hurt and anxiety spiking in Cara's expression makes it hard to. "Carrow, she's not wearing pants. Go ahead."

"Payback time," Carrow grunts, his piglike eyes lighting with lust. He lunges forwards and grabs Cara's arm, twisting it and bringing her down to the ground. He then proceeds to hold her down while he laughs deeply like the stupid manic he is. Finnick doesn't watch, turning away, his eyes darkening.

Selene laughs and walks forward to look over Carrow's shoulder as he continues to grab at Cara, Finnick's last statement convincd her that he was on the Career's side.

With both their backs turned to him, Finnick seizes the opportunity, using the point of his knife and driving it forcefully into Carrow's large backside. There is a moment of slowness before the large boy feels the pain and bellows aloud, clutching his thigh.

Selene turns, her expression changing, but then Carrow falls onto her, squashing her to the ground. She yelps in surprise as Carrow's bottom appears before her face. Finnick reaches around the two of them and grabs Cara, who is on the ground, sobbing. She lets herself be carried away, thinking that anything could be better than what she was just subjected to.

As he pulls her along, he throws another knife at Carrow, this one catching him in the back. Selene watches with hate burning in her eyes. She had not forgotten how impressive District 4's aim was.

Before either Selene or Carrow can struggle up or the other three Careers can find them, Finnick whisks his prize away into the fog.

* * *

"Do you still despise me?"

"More and more every passing second, Finnick."

"I'm sorry."

Cara sighs and looks away exasperatingly as Finnick apologizes again. After Finnick had escorted her down the rest of the mountain as quickly as possible, they had reached the mainland. Immediately the two of them had entangled themselves into the recesses of the dark evergreen forest. Only minutes after they had collapsed, exhausted from the frenzied escape, two parachutes had come in. One with bread and soup and the other with a fleece-like blanket.

"Why are you touching me? No touching," she says to Finnick as he places a hand on her arm. She sips the soup, each spoonful filling her body with warmth. Her clothes are back on, but she has caught a terrible cold and even the fleece blanket can't keep the breeze out.

She didn't trust him. Not at all. Not after he let Carrow do that to her. All of Panem had seen it happen, and she had never felt so helpless in her life... She would never trust him again. But he didn't have to know that.

Finnick chuckles softly and removes his hand. "Alright, no touching. But we can always kiss, or indulge in anything else you'd like."

He realizes how terrible the timing of his joke when Cara chokes on her soup and coughs, her eyes watering. He feels both guilt and jealousy all at once at the memory of Carrow slathering his mouth all over her. It was his fault that she's sick, and that she was assaulted by Carrow. Finnick had said to Carrow that he would never let it happen again...he should have killed the bastard when he had the chance. He would never forgive himself, and now, as he sees Cara shivering, her eyes anywhere but on him, he realizes that it was a terrible mistake. She was many things, but she wasn't an actress..._she didn't trust him at all anymore._

"Ok, not funny. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I asked for it. But you should be careful with what you say. There are millions of women who would believe you in a heartbeat."

Finnick laughs uneasily. "Why don't you?"

"Because I have a twisted sense of humor just like you...I'm going to sleep. It's been a long day." All Cara wants to do is forget about the arena and the Hunger Games for a few hours.

His eyebrows draw together in indignation, and for the first time, she sees the side of Finnick that is a just a boy, not the perfect man he tries so hard to be.

"You lost my shirt, Cara. As compensation, at least stay awake and keep me company until the nightly count. I'll be bored out of my mind without you."

She feels a jolt of something inside her, the same feeling from the first time that she had seen him. His eyes are intense without him trying and there's a scratch on his cheek.

"I'm tired, Finnick, and it's at least an hour before the counting. I'm sorry...I promise I'll be up later tonight so you can sleep your turn," Cara strains her voice, trying not to be rude or sarcastic. She watches his eyes flick away as he runs a hand through his hair.

He's upset, or confused, or both, but she can't imagine why. Did he crave her company so much, when doubtlessly, his whole life had been filled with people lusting and falling over him?

"Alright, sleep. I'll see if I can find any plants and maybe scope the area for other tributes," he finally says after a moment of silence. He regains his charming, clever smile, and stands, although his eyes remain disappointed. "Be good and don't run away."

As soon as he leaves, Cara considers it. Running away. Oh, it would be easier for both of them. Finnick of course would benefit from her absence. He wouldn't need to take care of her anymore. But she wouldn't be so lucky. Much as she tries not to acknowledge it, the truth is that she would be long dead without his help.

"Finnick!" she calls. There is a rustle in the trees and he appears, worry in every fluid movement. When he sees that she's alright, he seems to melt in upon himself, his body relaxing. She watches him sigh, watches the tired, relieved smile that appears as he looks at her.

"Don't leave. I'll stay awake," she feels tears pricking her eyes, for what, she doesn't know. Just the way that Finnick is looking at her contradicts all her mistrust of him. "I'll stay awake for you."

"Are you crying?" he asks, still smiling softly at her.

"I don't cry...my eyes just like to throw up water," her voice breaks as she sniffs loudly. No, she wouldn't let him see her cry. After several snuffles, the tears have paused and she wipes them away.

When he sits down and puts an arm around her shoulder, whispering words of comfort and kindness, she lets him.

"You were going to run, weren't you?" he murmurs as she breathes shallow, quick breaths. He isn't used to this, seeing a girl cry. The girls he spent his time with did nothing more than flirt with him.

"No, of course I wasn't going to run. I just couldn't bear to be apart from your stunning presence. Have you ever been told that it's like a drug? One taste-"

Finnick snorts as she stops crying and begins to talk in that sarcastic way of hers again. So much for weak and innocent. He stares at her as she speaks, her eyes filmed over with sickness, but still stark and beautiful. He rubs her arm, realizing how breakable she is. She's skinny for someone from District 10.

"And you're hooked," he finishes for her. "I've never heard it, actually. But I think it about you."

"I told you not to flirt with me," she says, swatting at his hand. "And not to touch me, Finnick."

Finnick leans in, so that their mouths are almost touching, the blue-green of his eyes distracting. Cara doesn't move; doesn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her uncomfortable. He's too close, and his scent, blood and that foul water from the morning, is dizzying.

She remembers how different he had smelled that day in the training room when he ate lunch with her... just like Capitol- perfume and shampoo and other pretty things. Now that she thinks about it, it's strange that she remembered such a disconcerting thing.

Where had he gotten the perfume? Probably some delusional Capitol girl who believed every silken word that came from his lips.

Cara, on the other hand, would never fall to him._ Never_, she promises herself.

But when he smiles slightly, moving to the left so that his lips are brushing against her cheek, she feels herself breathing in his essence, craving his closeness.

"I could never agree with either of those requests. Not with you, Cara."

* * *

When the nightly count appears in the sky, Panem's national anthem serenades the golden hologram of the Capitol seal as all the tributes watch silently from far below.

The Careers have set up camp at the base of the mountain, a huge bonfire roaring into the cold air. Selene broods over her loss of Finnick Odair as she reluctantly helps Carrow clean his wounds from their scrabble with the District 10 wretch. Sergei, the new recruit, sits down and stretches his aching legs, wondering if his choice had been a mistake. He misses his district partner and hopes that she is still alive.

The other tributes, the prey of the hunters, are scattered in a five mile radius from where the bonfire rages. All of them were washed out by the storm, and had to find shelter. They huddle in their nooks and crannies, too cold, too hungry, too afraid. As the night wind lashes through the rippling sea of trees, they freeze. They are the forgotten, the collateral damage of the real show. They provide the minor entertainment while the spotlight shines on the powerful.

Finnick Odair lies on his back, elbows propping his body up. His eyes glow silver in the dreary, foggy light, and a smirk slowly appears as he feels Cara burrowing closer to him in the dark. The two of them are cold because of the sudden increase in the wind and swirling mist that sweeps through the arena, and they can't light a fire in fear of the Careers finding them.

One, two, three faces flash in succession in the sky. Another six follow. The anthem plays again before darkness closes in upon the hologram. Nine tributes have died on the first day of the 64th annual Hunger Games.

Cara nudges him with her arm, feels the hard muscle of his body. She hears the heady sigh that he breathes as he gazes at her.

She wants to ask him how many he had killed out of the nine tributes that died. Two? Three? The words lodge in her throat, and she realizes that she doesn't want to know how many. She knows that Finnick Odair is a killer... he had speared a boy through the chest before her eyes this very morning.

When Cara doesn't say anything, Finnick gets up, tucking the edges of the blanket around her when it billows up. She is as pale as a sheet, and when he crouches down in front of her, reaching out one hand to feel her cheek, it is burning with heat.

"You're so hot..." He murmurs, and then he realizes what he's just said and chuckles at himself. Her golden eyes are glazed with tiredness and fever, and at his touch she faintly mews a complaint before turning onto her side, already slipping into the lull of sleep.

The wind stirs, cold against his bare ribs. Finnick looks up towards the sky. He and Cara both wouldn't last long without a fire. She was sick and he was going to get sick as well if the chill persisted.

Finnick loudly, firmly, appeases to his sponsors. He asks for medicine and warm clothes, staring up into the fog as if he were looking at the sponsors themselves. It's his first time requesting of them. When he is sure that they hear him, he goes back to Cara's sleeping form.

He lies down besides her, crawling under the blanket and pressing himself to her unnaturally warm body. He matches his breath to hers, the heavy, fast pounding of his heart making it difficult. He had never felt this before- a sense of euphoria just from being close to someone.

Sleep doesn't come for hours, his mind and body occupied with greater things than rest.


End file.
